Zhao sat at home, playing some first-person shooter he’d rented for five dollars. Right as he was about to kill the boss, he heard a shrill cry coming from his desk. He groaned, paused the game, and opened his drawer, revealing a sleek black phone. An older model, but it got the job done nevertheless.
Smartphones. They were annoying as hell sometimes, but in the professional world, they did come in handy. Zhao squinted at the darker-than-usual screen, and he saw a notification from MercServ. Pale Horse. Looks like they were going to sabotage some CDA facility. Typical. Seemed like the CDA and Pale Horse were the only big players in London, and as with all corporations, they got competitive.
He accepted the job immediately, even though he knew CDA was going to make a counter-offer. Attacking, assaulting, raiding, whatever people called it, that was his forte. And plus, as a defender, he assumed he had to worry about the whole “not blowing shit up” thing, which just didn’t sit well with him. Typically, the most optimal defense was to kill the enemy before they got to the target, and Zhao knew he wasn’t much use as a tactician or a sniper. He’d leave those privileges up for the smarter folk.
He examined his bandolier, which had one of every shell he used, plus backup bags around his waist. His trench gun, cleaned and prepped from the downtime of the last mission, cocked without a snatch. Holstering his pistol, he tightened his shock armor and adjusted his helmet.
But no matter how smart someone is, a bullet still kills them the same.
